Chapter 30 Carver
Carver
Amryn was quieter than usual, and Carver didn’t like it. Unfortunately, they were sitting in the middle of a meeting with General Keats, Morelli, Ivan, and Samuel, so Carver couldn’t exactly demand to know what was wrong.
Something was, though. He knew his own mood was a little dark after speaking with Berron, but Amryn seemed . . . Sad? Resigned? He couldn’t quite read the shadows in her eyes, but they were undeniably there.
She’d given her report on the meeting with Bram, along with Samuel and Ivan.
Nothing had gone wrong. Bram had seemed to accept Ivan, and Keats was practically salivating at the opportunity the rebels had laid at their feet.
The Rising wanted the Dagger of Hafsin? Keats was more than happy to set a trap for them.
Knowing they would be able to catch most—if not all—of the rebels planted in the palace, as well as Bram’s high-ranking superior, actually made Keats smile.
The expression looked strange on his severe face.
The details took a couple hours to debate, but a plan took shape.
The Chosen would be led on a tour of the palace—including the treasury, where they’d confirmed the Dagger of Hafsin was stored—in a couple of weeks.
The timing was crucial, as they wanted the Rising to have enough time to plot their heist, but not enough time to second-guess stealing the dagger.
The treasury would be a perfect place to lay their trap.
It was remote, so innocents wouldn’t be caught in any fight that might ensue, and the Rising would not be able to access the space beforehand.
They would be totally reliant on Amryn, Ivan, and Samuel.
Which led to the part of the plan Carver did not like.
Keats was insistent that Amryn and the others volunteer to help steal the dagger.
“It will lower Bram’s defenses,” he argued when Carver had protested.
“If the Chosen are confident enough to participate in the theft, Bram will fully trust their information and believe them when they say the theft is possible. Besides, if the Chosen are involved, that keeps us in control of the situation. We’ll know if the Rising deviates in any way from their plans, because they would inform Amryn, Samuel, or Ivan. ”
Carver fought it, but in the end he was overruled. Morelli, sensing Carver’s tension, offered him a place with him and Keats in the treasury so he could be at Amryn’s side the instant the trap was sprung.
As if Carver would have agreed to be anywhere else.
Eventually the meeting concluded, and Carver and Amryn were finally alone as they walked back to their suite. Neither of their moods had seemed to improve over the course of the long meeting, though the slump in Amryn’s shoulders could have been from sheer exhaustion.
Weariness pulled at his own body. He prayed he’d actually be able to sleep tonight. He’d had another nightmare last night. Argent had been tortured in front of him again. This time, he hadn’t been blaming Carver. He’d been begging him to save him from Raza’s blades.
Carver honestly didn’t know which was worse.
It was late afternoon, and while no one was directly around them, Carver chose his words carefully as he asked, “Are you all right?”
Amryn glanced over at him. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
Because you look like you’ve got the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, sweetheart.
“I’m just worried about you,” Carver said. “I know today couldn’t have been easy.”
A small furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “I’m fine.” When he said nothing, just waited, she released a slow exhale. “None of this is easy, but it’s necessary. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll play my part.”
He frowned. “I know you will. You’re insane if you think I won’t worry about you, though.”
She bit her lower lip, her footsteps soft against the floor.
Saints, she could be so hard for him to read. It was all the more frustrating to know she could read him so perfectly. That she always knew exactly what he was feeling, while he was left in the dark about her thoughts.
“How was your meeting with Berron?” she asked.
He couldn’t hold back his snort. “Terrible.”
Compassion sparked in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
No. Truthfully, he didn’t want to remember it had happened at all.
Amryn glanced down, picking at something he couldn’t see on her skirt. “It’s all right,” she said into the silence. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
It was her tone more than her words that gave him pause.
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just .
. . I don’t know what happened with Berron today.
He hates me.” His throat dried up, but he forced himself to continue.
“I used to think it was because I introduced him to Rivard. That Berron blamed me for sonne ever entering his life. But now I’m not so sure.
” His hatred today had felt more personal.
Resentment for everything Carver was. Jealousy, even.
The bitterness in Berron’s words still stung, hours later.
He exhaled slowly as they reached the base of the stairs that would take them up to their room. “I guess I just—”
“Lady Amryn, General Vincetti.”
Immediate irritation burned at the sound of that voice.
Carver looked to the top of the staircase, where Chancellor Kulver of all people was grinning down at them. Considering the corridor essentially belonged to the Vincettis—and Ford, at the moment—there was no reason for Kulver to be wandering up there. Unless he was looking for someone.
The way Kulver’s eyes lingered on Amryn made Carver’s annoyance flare. He straightened his spine as he climbed the steps. He didn’t want Kulver to think he had the high ground in any way. “What do you want, Chancellor?”
Amryn shot him a look as she walked beside him, probably because his tone was nowhere near polite.
Kulver’s smile merely widened as he watched their final approach.
“I was coming to find Lady Amryn. I’ve heard you’ve been in a lot of meetings, General.
I hated the thought of your wife sitting alone in her room, bored.
” His attention shifted to Amryn as she reached the top of the stairs.
“I wanted to extend an invitation for you to join me for dinner. I’m sure we could keep ourselves entertained, if your husband is busy. ”
Carver’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
Before he could say anything—or break the Chancellor’s too-perfect nose—Amryn said, “Thank you for your offer, but I must decline.”
“Ah, what a shame,” Kulver said, not sounding discouraged at all. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Please know that it’s a standing offer.”
“One I will always decline, Chancellor.”
“I told you, Amryn, you may call me Ryun.”
A growl escaped Carver.
Kulver’s eyes gleamed with delight. “Come now, General, surely you’re not so possessive that you won’t allow your wife to have friends?”
Amryn wrapped a hand around Carver’s wrist. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to trap it before he could raise a fist against Kulver, or if the move was more of a claiming for the benefit of the insufferable man.
Her tone was sharper than before as she said, “I have friends, Chancellor. And I can assure you, you will never be counted among them.”
He chuckled. “Your wit continues to dazzle, my lady.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I think it would be best if you refrained from seeking me out.” Without waiting for a response, she tugged on Carver’s wrist and pulled him around the chancellor, who watched them leave with an amused gaze.
“I’m going to break his nose,” Carver said, not bothering to keep the declaration quiet.
Behind them, Kulver chuckled.
Amryn’s hold on Carver’s wrist tightened. “It wouldn’t deter him,” she murmured. “The best strategy with Kulver will be avoidance and not rising to his bait.” She sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have responded as I did. He likes a challenge.”
Carver grunted. “He’s never been challenged by me. I promise he won’t like it.”
Amryn’s lips twitched.
Seeing her flash of amusement, however brief, made some of his own mood lighten.
Until he noticed Berron standing at his door, which was right next to theirs. His brother was watching them, his single eye narrowed. Carver couldn’t help but tense.
Amryn seemed unaffected as she said, “Good afternoon, Berron.”
Berron’s hard expression remained unchanged, but Carver swore he saw a flicker of surprise in his eye before he deliberately turned from them, lifting the key in his hand to the lock on the door.
He missed.
With a low growl, Berron stooped closer and tried to fit the key in once more.
Again, he missed. Saints, was he drunk?
Berron rested his stump against the door, as if that would help his aim.
Amryn swept forward, compassion in every movement as she reached Berron’s side. She reached for the key.
Berron flinched back, fisting the small piece of metal.
Amryn stilled, then slowly extended her hand, palm open in silent invitation.
Carver stiffened. If Berron said something cutting . . .
“I can do it,” he snapped, glaring at her.
“I’m sure you can,” Amryn said easily. “But so can I.” She lowered her voice, then added, “And I bet I can do it faster.”
Berron’s glare sharpened, and Carver prepared to step between them. But despite his scowl, Berron dropped the key into Amryn’s hand.
Carver was shocked, but Amryn simply stepped closer and inserted the key into the lock, twisted it, then returned the key to Berron. “Do you have any plans for dinner? Carver and I were just going to eat in our room tonight. You could join us.”
Berron snorted. “I’d rather dine on the Scorched Plains.”
“I’m not sure they serve food there.”
Carver had no idea who was more surprised by Amryn’s quip—him or Berron.
His brother stared at her for a beat, then, without a word, he strode into his room and slammed the door shut.
“I’m sorry,” Carver said quietly. “It’s not you, he’s just a brooding drunk.”
“He wasn’t drunk,” Amryn said.
“But the key . . .” His words trailed off as realization trickled in.
A knot formed low in his gut. Berron hadn’t been drunk.
His hand hadn’t been shaking, he simply hadn’t been able to fit the key in the lock.
“His eye,” he said. “His perception is off.” Because without two eyes, he couldn’t judge depth accurately.
Carver had never considered that. Berron hadn’t just lost an eye; he’d lost the ability to easily do things everyone else could. He also had a perpetual blind spot. The thought made the back of Carver’s neck itch. He couldn’t imagine living that way. An attacker could sneak up on him so easily.
And his hand. It was more than simply a missing limb.
Was his balance affected, at least in the beginning?
Even if he’d learned to compensate for that, how many tasks had become difficult or impossible because he only had one hand?
Perhaps it made him a terrible brother, but he’d never truly considered the full impact of what Berron had lost.
Amryn’s attention flicked to the guards stationed at their door, and Carver took the silent cue.
He gently led her inside their own room, and once alone, she whispered, “He’s in such pain.
It’s unrelenting. He was embarrassed, too.
Desperate to get away from us, I think.” She paused, then added, “He believes he deserves to be alone and miserable.”
Carver’s jaw felt too tight. “He’s making it bloody hard to get close to him.”
Amryn didn’t deny his words. But sympathy tinged her voice as she said, “He needs patience. He needs people to see beneath the surface. He needs understanding.” She met his gaze.
“His craving for sonne is intense. The addiction he battles constantly . . . I don’t think anyone realizes the incredible strength he exerts every day—every moment—just to resist.”
He frowned. After everything Berron had done—the lies he’d told, the way he’d fallen to the non-existent mercy of that drug—Carver had only ever seen his brother as weak.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to face the reality that Berron may have had moments of weakness, but he’d displayed incredible strength, too.
Even surviving his withdrawal had taken strength, let alone the daily battle he fought against his need for sonne.
The temptation itself didn’t make him weak. Resisting it, in fact, made him stronger than Carver had ever suspected.
“I know he’s hurt you,” Amryn said softly. “And I know there’s nothing I can say that will immediately fix things, but . . .”
He knew she was debating her next words. That only made him nervous to hear them.
“You fought a war, Carver,” she said, speaking slowly.
“A public one that everyone saw. Everyone knows it left its mark on you. Emotional scars that almost everyone can understand, even if they’ve never fought in battle.
” Her lips pursed, and he held his breath as she said more carefully, “Berron is fighting a war, too. It’s one that everyone knows about, but few can understand.
And I think it’s left more scars than anyone realizes. ”